


Whispering Gold

by pandemonium_213



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Back to Middle-Earth Month, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:30:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6229285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandemonium_213/pseuds/pandemonium_213
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the depths of a cold northern lake, an eldritch horror awakens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispering Gold

  
From across the tenebrous lake, made darker still as the dreadful Sky-Fire sank behind the western hills, the disturbances came. They skittered upon her flesh and awoke her from the dreams sent by her mother, who lay sleeping in her silent palace, far, far away in a chasm deep under the sea.  
  
She unfurled herself and stretched. The many thick strands of her arms reached through the mouth of the cave to grasp the rock outside, the powerful suckers finding purchase on the slick surface. She pulled herself forward, flattened her head, and squeezed through the gap between the stones. Her body lengthened to slip through the narrow space, followed by her legs, so thin and tiny as to be almost useless, a vestige of a life long forgotten, until the whole of her floated in the open water.  
  
She smelled and tasted the vibrations that rippled through the lake. No, these were not the shimmerings of Silverscales slicing through the water. That was no surprise, for over the years, she had eaten most of them. Nor were they the sound of the noisy Featherfolk that sometimes landed on the surface of the lake, much to their peril. Hard-pressed to find Silverscales for her sustenance these days, she drank the Featherfolk’s warm blood and crunched their bones with her broad beak. Now, she was ravenous. It had been many days since she had last dined.  
  
The vibrations became muffled. Whatever had disturbed the water of the noisome creek at the northern edge of the lake no longer trod there, but instead had moved onto the land. She sniffed again and caught the faint aroma of hot blood in the water, much like that of the Stunted Folk who carved the stone beneath the mountains, where they stamped about on two legs and sported bristly hair that scratched her throat when she consumed them.  
  
She swam toward the center of the lake and lifted one of her arms to breach the surface so she could get a better whiff of any odors or feel the slightest breath of a breeze. Yes, there it was: the enticing scent of warmth that drifted from the north, but moving, moving toward the stone doors. How many were there? Quickly, she counted: nine distinct, strong scents of two-legged creatures, and the deliciously rank stench of one who walked on four, but each a vessel of hot, sweet blood, their thick bones filled with succulent marrow. She let her arm fall back into the lake, and the bubbles of her laughter rose up through the dark waters. To reach the entrance to the realm of the Stunted Folk, they must tread close to the shore, close enough for her to snatch them from the land. What a feast she would have!  
  
Yet, she reminded herself, her duty was not just to feed her body, but to also guard the doors of stone, to let no one pass. For that is what the Wise One had told her after he summoned her from the Ever-night beneath the roots of the mountains. He had promised her the flesh and blood of land dwellers if she became the guardian of those doors, but it was a promise he did not keep. Nonetheless, she remained the guardian. Away she glided toward the doors.  
  
Later, in her cave, she wept. Yes, her arm pained her from the injuries inflicted upon her sinews by that nasty little Two-Legs. Yes, her skin was raw from rubbing against the harsh stone of those doors and ripping up the ghastly trees with their thorns. Those discomforts did not cause her to weep. No, it was because her prey escaped, and she had failed in her duty. She had sensed an especially tempting smell — the fragrance of gold — on one of the little Two-Legs, and heard the gold whisper to her to take it, embrace it, and drag it down into the deep, silent water. She had reached for the Two-Legs who bore the gold, but he had eluded her, and in her rage, she ensured he would not be able to escape the black pits where he fled.  
  
That night, she cried to Mother. _I failed. They escaped. The whispering gold is gone. He will come. He will punish me. He will drag me out of the lake to burn in the light of the Sky-Fire._  
  
Mother stirred in her sleep, and from her deep palace replied, _Hush, my darling child. You have not failed, and he shall not punish you because he fears me. He fears you, too, because he knows who you are. He knows of your elder kin, they who dwell in the abysses among the stars, and he shall quake in terror before them, for when they come and we awaken, we shall devour all._  
  
_Even him, Mother_?  
  
_Yes, even him. Now dream, my dearest daughter, dream._  
  
Mother’s song soothed her, and she curled up in the cave, letting the gelid waters of the northern lake lull her to sleep and drive away the hideous whispers of gold.

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to Back to Middle-earth Month 2016, using the 2012 Bungo Baggins' BINGO Bash card prompt: Beasts, B7.
> 
> Many thanks to Oshun, Ignoble Bard, and Russandol for picking of the nits.
> 
> And yes, there might be a wee bit of Lovecraftian influence here.


End file.
